At ten o’clock, I slip off my heels and walk the perimeter of my office in my bare feet, letting my toes sink deep into the plush white carpet. When I moved into this office two years ago, I had the old, worn gray carpet pulled up and installed this one out of pocket, so I could do exactly this. I think better, create more creative campaigns, when I can walk, and no one wants to a) walk in high heels or b) walk barefoot on the dank carpet that used to be in here.
We need a new digital marketing strategy for a local chain of car dealerships that’s looking to expand into the Northeast. Their digital marketing before Hill City was nonexistent and they’re highly suspicious of the strategy I proposed. Before I came on board, Hill City had no digital marketing strategy to speak of and relied solely on what Richard called traditional strategies. I called them outdated. Over the last half decade, I’ve brought Hill City into the twenty-first century. And made Richard a lot of money doing it.
According to his references, Mr. Chambers created some well-received digital marketing campaigns when he was in school. I’m almost tempted to run the problem by him, because my pacing hasn’t helped with my creativity at all this time.
But I can’t ask him because I sent him off this afternoon to pick up a bridal shower gift for my ex-boyfriend’s bride.
I had decided I wasn’t going to send a gift, but then I needed to get him out of this office. It’s distracting having him sit out there. Even with my office door closed, the tension radiating off him sneaks under the door in angry waves. He’s pissed, indignant. Not thoroughly subdued like I’d hoped he’d be.
I’m willing to admit that maybe I’m wasting his talents out of spite. And maybe Emily was right and there was more to that elevator situation than I know.
My heart flips over at the thought.
But where my schedule used to feel like my security blanket, now it’s this anger that keeps the bruise on my heart safe. If I can’t hold on to this, and it turns out Emily is wrong and Wesley is an asshole, I’ll be hurt all over again.
I finish my last lap of the office and sit down at my desk, trying to ignore the doubt at the back of my mind.
The whisper of the door against the carpet is my only warning when Richard enters my office an hour later. He doesn’t even bother to knock. I lift my head from where it’s cradled between my palms.
“Richard.” I plaster on a smile. “Hi.”
Richard frowns, making a show of searching my office, back out the door, and my stomach drops into my lap.
Oh god.
The panic sets in fast.
Oh crap.
He’ll want to know where Mr. Chambers is and why he’s not here, working. A thousand excuses run through my mind on ticker tape but most of them require at least Mr. Chambers’s corroboration and great, now I’m going to have to lie to my boss.
“Corrine,” he says, his voice soft. “Where is that beautiful smile of yours?”
My stomach continues its fall, but this time all the way to the floor.
“What reason do you have to frown on a beautiful day like this?”
Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply through my nose. The man can’t even be bothered to come up with a synonym for beautiful when he’s being creepy. For the span of this breath, I can’t decide what is more off-putting: the unoriginality or the sexual harassment.
I pull my glasses down over my eyes and shuffle the papers in front of me to seem busier than I am. I glance up. Richard’s brown eyes assess me. I can still feel them even when I look away.
My skin crawls; the harassment is definitely more off-putting.
I can’t pinpoint when he stopped seeing me as his protégé, partner even, and started looking at me differently. It was after my internship, after I’d put in time as a junior associate and had proven myself. It happened so slowly I can’t say for sure it was this day or that time. I just know that when he did, it started to feel different. Or maybe he’d always looked at me that way and I’d never noticed before, too caught up in my own hero worship.
I know when he’s looking at me now. I can feel it like a touch, just not the kind I want.
He pulls out the chair in front of my desk and sits down, crossing his ankle over his knee. His patent leather shoe gleams so bright, it’s like it’s smiling at me. He’s the picture of calm, a king in someone else’s kingdom. He leans back and folds his hands over his flat abdomen and crisp white Oxford shirt. His broad shoulders fill out the dark gray suit. He keeps himself in great shape. He easily passes for ten years younger than his midfifties.
“You seem shaken up. Talk to me, Corrine.”
I press my lips together—the closest I can get to a smile—and shake my head. Anything not to have to talk about my intern.
“Is it about your mother and her health, Corrine?”
Actually, no. Anything but that.
The panic I was feeling before boils over. I shake my head a little harder, press my lips a little tighter.
“I was trying to think of something I could do to help or at least distract you.”
The sympathy in his eyes, his tone, ratchets up but it’s contrived, his idea of what concern looks like rather than what it really is.
I pry my lips apart. “That’s not necessary, Richard. We don’t even have the biopsy results yet. There’s no point in worrying about it until we know what we’re dealing with.”
It’s a lie. Of course I’m worrying.
I want desperately to be able to deal with my mother’s potential cancer diagnosis with the rationality and practicality I deal with everything else, like work. At least then I’d feel some semblance of control over any of this. But I’m not sure that’s possible.
“Nonetheless.”
He leans forward, reaching across the desk to place his palm over my hand. His skin is like a scratchy old blanket. One you might find in a cheap roadside motel. One you don’t want to fall asleep under.
I glance toward the door because in this moment I would give anything for an interruption. Even one from Wesley Chambers.
But the door stays shut.
“I thought, you know what would be a good distraction for our sweet Corrine?”
My nostrils flare as I take a deep breath and try to ignore the casual sexism dripping off of this man. Emily is right (she almost always is). I shouldn’t put up with this behavior from Richard. But in every scenario where I put my foot down, I see his support go up in smoke. I’ve never gone out of my way to ingratiate myself with most of the team here. I care about results, not what you did on the weekend. And I’ve never had to care because Richard always had my back. He’s banking on that loyalty now because when you owe your career to someone, there’s a lot you’ll put up with.
“What if you managed the softball team this year?”
He smiles as he says it, his face lighting up as if he’s come up with a million-dollar idea. “We’re always trying to get you to participate, what with your speed.”
For some reason, Richard thinks that because I run marathons, I’m fast. I guess technically I am, but speed over distance doesn’t really translate to speed between bases.
“And you’re so...” His eyes travel over my body. I wish I had the guts to face him head-on in moments like this. “Nimble.”
“Richard,” I say slowly, trying to piece together new excuses. “I’m quite busy.”
You know, marketing.
He waves my words away. “It will be good to get out and enjoy the outdoors. Plus it means we’ll get a chance to spend more time together.”
Great. Exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.
“And if that and this mentorship with Wesley both go well, there might be something more in it for you, too.”
“Oh.” I lean back in my chair, suspicious, but interested nonetheless. Richard’s idea of “something more” could mean oh so many things.
“We’ve all noticed how hard you’ve been working and how much it’s paying off. You deserve some recognition for that.”
No matter how tumultuous this relationship has been, receiving praise from Richard still makes me feel like I did on my first day. Eager for more. “Thank you,” I say as a flush crawls up my face.
“How does...” He holds both hands up, like he’s framing a billboard. “VP Marketing sound?”
That sounds...like quite a pay raise. I’m already qualified. The MBA I worked nights and weekends to get finally paying off. As the current Director, I lead our team in pitching accounts and landing new clients. But as VP I’d be able to set goals for Hill City’s internal marketing strategy, increase brand awareness against our bigger competitors. I’d be in charge of the budget and could shape our team to my exact specifications. My eyes widen but that’s the only tell I allow myself.
“Well?” he prods.
“I’m interested,” I say slowly.
Richard laughs. “Don’t sound too excited, Corrine.”
Keeping my excitement to myself isn’t a strategy per se but a defense mechanism. I don’t want Richard to know how much I want anything. I can’t give him any more power over me than he already has.
And that dims the luster on this shiny new offer. As VP of Marketing I’ll have to spend more time with Richard, consult with him more closely than I already do. Just the thought of it stands my hair on end.
“What do you need to see?” I ask. “What do you need from me?” Because this is the push-pull of working with Richard Skyler. This is everything that I’ve been working toward and now that it’s within my grasp I’m scared to reach out and grab it.
His smile comes back. The one I hate to see on his face. It makes me sick. “Well, just keep up...” He pauses. “All that good work. I think that some of the executives and I would like to sit in on that presentation with the new client you have coming up.”
“The Grimes account?” I can’t keep the thread of panic from my voice.
“Yes, we just want to see you in action. We’re not evaluating you.”
There are too many swear words running through my head to choose the right one for this predicament. Phil Grimes is an overblown egomaniac who sells cars. Or at least, he tries to sells cars. If he actually sold them, he wouldn’t have to come to us to help him. Most of the other executives are also overblown egomaniacs. If they’re all in the same room while I try to close this deal with Grimes, they’ll hijack my meeting.
“Richard, I guess I’m just a little worried that if you’re in the room, he won’t want to hear from me.”
He grins, pleased with himself. If the man had feathers he’d preen. “Don’t worry, Corrine. They won’t even know we’re there. Besides, I’m sure they’ll be enamored with you.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s my only alternative to screaming. I nod. “I can do that.”
“And, of course, I want to see how you and Wesley work together. Show me more of those lovely interpersonal skills.” His voice takes on a condescending tone and I answer with a brittle smile.
“Speaking of...” Richard says over his shoulder. “Where is Wesley?”
“Lunch,” I say, with a saccharine smile. The lie rolls off my tongue much easier than I’d expected.